


#intervalblowjobs

by DoctorPea



Category: British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorPea/pseuds/DoctorPea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian has an irrational idea. Mark retaliates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place at the Donmar Warehouse during the run of The Recruiting Officer. It is completely and utterly fictional.

There are moments in life when an otherwise reasonably rational and sensible person may suddenly, and for no discernible reason, be overcome by a wildly irrational idea. And sometimes, despite knowing full well how absurd the idea is, they may act upon it anyway. Eating that last slice of cake, for instance, even though you know full well it will make you ill. Or buying a cream-coloured suit, knowing that this is London and it will have some manner of irremovable grime or mud on it within two weeks. Or dragging your husband off to the bathroom for a quick blowjob in the interval of the play he’s currently in. 

Ian discreetly crossed his legs and smiled. This was a spectacularly bad idea; ravishing people might have been very in keeping with the spirit of a Restoration comedy, but the theatre was tiny, and sound travelled easily. Even at a bigger venue, the chance of being discovered (or at least heard by the people in the dressing room _right next door_ ) would be significant. In this tiny space, the idea was complete madness. And besides, he thought, he hadn’t blown anyone in a toilet since his early twenties. Madness. He grinned.

At the start of the interval, he got up at once and made his way upstairs to the door marked “Private”. After a quick smile and a “Sorry, I’m afraid I left my wallet in there earlier, do you mind…?” to the young member of staff (not even half bad looking, nice bum, too), he was let in. Most people were off preparing for the second half anyway, setting props or changing costumes. The few who weren’t were sitting around the dressing room for the most part, sipping tea, touching up their make-up, and trying to get a moment’s rest. Mark had taken off Captain Brazen’s ridiculous wig, and was busy re-applying pink powder to the tip of his nose.

Thankfully, everyone else was minding their own business, and no one seemed to overhear the whispered “I’d like to have a quick word with you, in private.” Equally thankfully, the vaguely sinister overtones of that sentence, when whispered to a spouse, will almost always ensure that they follow you immediately, discreetly, and without any questions. That is, until you drag them into the bathroom, lock the door behind you, and push them against the tiled wall. That’s when the questions usually start.

“ _What_ are you doing?”

Sometimes, a raised eyebrow and a determined stroke of the palm are the most eloquent reply. 

“Are you mad?” If his voice cracked on ‘mad’, it was only partially the agitation. “Really, not that I’m not flattered, but can’t this wait?” 

“No,” Ian replied calmly, “I’m afraid it can’t.” With another deft stroke of the flat of his hand, he pushed the long waistcoat further out of the way. The outline of Mark’s cock was just becoming visible through his breeches. 

“I’ve got to be back on stage in twenty minutes.” His voice had taken on the pleasant, familiar roughness of arousal. “I’m not bloody sixteen anymore. Look, I’m not going to get it up in the middle of the bloody theatre, right before I’ve got to go back on, and—“

“Really? That’s not what it looks like to me.” With a smirk, he ran his fingers lightly over Mark's hardening cock. 

“This is mad.”

“I know.”

“Ruin the costume and you’re dead.”

“I _know_. Now try to be very quiet, there’s a good chap.” The obvious insanity of the situation – kneeling down on the cold, hard tiles, with other people just a few feet away – made itself plain again, and it was just as easy as before to register and dismiss it. If anything, it was even easier, what with the long, hard prick right in front of his face, deliciously visible through the thin breeches and begging to be sucked.

Getting the frustrating combination of the laces and buttons on the flies undone was more difficult than it had seemed. Finally, they fell open and a warm, familiar scent joined the distinct combination of mothballs and dry-cleaning fluid that belongs to theatre costumes the world over.

This really wasn’t the time or place for an indulgent, drawn-out blowjob, so after a teasing lick along the underside, Ian took the full length into his mouth and right down his throat. 

“Fuck! Fucking… _fuck_.” 

It was only a hoarse whisper, but it was still too loud; the tiled walls reflected even the smallest of noises perfectly. Ian reluctantly backed off and got to his feet.

“Shh, do be quiet.”

The lace border of the white kid gloves that were part of the costume was hanging out of a coat pocket. Diligently, Ian took them out and folded them up several times into a tight bundle. He placed two fingers at the seam of Mark’s lips, and felt a sharp bolt of arousal when they parted trustingly at the slightest insistence. He gently pushed them apart wider until he could just fit in the folded gloves. 

“It wouldn’t do to get caught, now would it?”

He ran his fingers over Mark’s chin, pushing up slightly to encourage him to bite down properly on the gloves. When he was satisfied with the impromptu gag, he got back on his knees and swallowed down the tantalizingly hard cock in front of him, but slightly more slowly this time. He could tell Mark was getting off on this, the danger of being sucked off in a backstage loo in full Restoration costume, while the rest of the cast were so close that he could hear the musicians tuning up their instruments for the second half of the play. It was so good, it almost made up for not being able to strip off the ridiculous lace and frills and draw this out until the kid gloves were beyond all hope.

Still, there wasn’t much time, and so he ran his tongue over the head before taking it into his mouth and sucking hard and deliberately, his tongue running slow circles along the underside, then over the slit and back again. He closed his eyes and let the focus of his perception narrow down to Mark’s scent and taste and the feel of him in his mouth. It sent a shivery wave of arousal through Ian’s body and he began to suck more eagerly now, slick and wet and gloriously filthy. With detached amusement, Ian realized that while Mark was doing as he’d been told and kept perfectly quiet, he himself was making the most obscene sucking noises around his cock. Should anyone happen to walk past the bathroom, it was probably more than obvious what was happening behind the locked door. 

Ian couldn’t deny that he was enjoying this little tryst rather more than he’d expected, and with one hand he lightly stroked himself a few times through his trousers. There was something to be said for having another man’s cock in your mouth and watching him completely fall apart under your touch; every shudder and groan and clenched fist in your hair was a delicious reward in its own right. If they had been at home, he would have liked to take his time, slowly run his tongue up and down the shaft, just this side of too light, and then lazily suck on the head while nudging a spit-slicked finger or two up his arse. If he was feeling generous, he might even have removed the gag by now. 

It was a shame, really, that they had to keep so quiet. The gasps and moans and desperate begging to please fuck him, yes, just like that, were half the fun. But it seemed that Mark was trying to make up for the silence by scraping the fingernails of his free hand over the nape of Ian’s neck, then up over one ear and restlessly circling over the top of his head before roughly grabbing a fistful of hair just hard enough to be slightly painful. Ian barely managed not to moan. Mark too was becoming increasingly desperate, steadily and roughly fucking Ian's mouth while holding him firmly in place by his hair. 

By now the pace had increased enough that Ian had to brace one hand against Mark’s thigh to steady himself. With the other, he reached out to rub slow and insistent circles over his perineum, pushing that bit more up on every other stroke, until his thrusts became erratic. At last, Mark stilled, and then with a few long strokes came in hot bursts down Ian’s throat. When he felt the tension ebbing away, Ian gently sucked one last time before releasing Mark’s cock and swallowing. 

Mark relaxed back against the bathroom wall, removed the gloves from his mouth and tucked himself back into his breeches. With a little wince – those fucking tiles – Ian got to his feet and leaned in for a kiss. Mark’s tongue licked into his mouth, as if to chase all traces of himself there, and Ian became painfully aware of his own erection pressing hard against the inseam of his trousers.

“You mad fucker,” Mark whispered against his lips, still breathless. “I’ll have to do the second half without the gloves.”

They both looked at each other for a moment, before succumbing to the quietest adrenaline-fuelled giggling they could manage under the circumstances. Mark reached down to give Ian’s hard cock a firm squeeze, making his breath catch in his throat, but almost immediately pushed him away to fumble ineffectually with his costume.

“You’ll bloody well wait this out.” He cleared his throat. “Give it five minutes before you go out. And make sure Gawn doesn’t see you, he’ll never let me hear the end of this.”

Ian grinned. “Oh him – I’m sure he’s seen worse.”

“Cheeky. And God help you if you’ve made me miss my call,” he growled, but his fingers on Ian’s slightly sore lips were gentle and promising.

Still, he thought when Mark had hurriedly and quietly (and not quite steadily) left the room, if the look he’d given him was anything to go by, he was at least temporarily forgiven for his fit of madness. And anyway, being forced to wait out the second half of the performance – and the after show drinks, presumably – with a raging hard on and the taste of him still on his tongue... well, it would be manageable. He wondered whether it would be too pathetic to have a quick wank in here while he waited for the actors to go back on stage.

He took a deep breath, adjusted himself, and picked up the ruined gloves Mark had left behind. No, he would wait it out. And get those bloody things dry cleaned in the morning. Hopefully, you could get lipstick stains out of leather. He put his forehead against the cool tiles of the wall, and spent the next five minutes thinking about Maggie Thatcher in a vain attempt to block out the memory of Mark’s cock in his mouth and his fingers tightening in his hair.

The lovely thing selling programmes was still keeping watch on the door leading to the backstage area when he came out, and eyeing him a bit suspiciously.

“Found everything, sir?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied with what he hoped was a winning smile and not a grimace of frustrated lust and embarrassment. 

“I’m afraid the performance has already started again, so you won’t be able to go back inside. You can watch it from the bar though, just through to your left.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, “and sorry about that. About being late, I mean.”

“That’s fine, Mr Hallard” programmes replied with a little smile, and Ian realised too late that he was licking at the sore parts of his lips. 

The good thing was that at least no one suspected him of being a potential props thief (or a mad stalker). The bad part was that he had no way of telling how obvious it was that he had just blown his husband in a (semi-)public toilet as if they were teenagers at a seedy club rather than professional actors in a professional theatre. A swift retreat and a drink in the bar while he waited sounded like the best course of action under the circumstances. He just hoped that recruiting various eighteenth-century inhabitants of Shrewsbury wouldn’t take too long – he had better plans for the night.


	2. Chapter 2

They'd skipped the after show drinks, thank god. Nevertheless, there was the second half of the play, and the curtain call, and dodging the fans in the foyer (Ian usually had no problem with them, but tonight he'd kept his head down and prayed that no one would recognise him; Mark had taken his time, signing programmes and posing for photographs, his smile positively wicked), and the taxi ride home, all of which Ian had mastered with various levels of embarrassment and frustration. He'd tried to push Mark up against the door as soon as they were home, but the infuriating bugger had insisted on letting the dog out first, and on opening a bottle of wine, and it wasn't until he was halfway through his second glass that he finally put his hand on Ian. 

After spending most of the evening trying, more or less successfully, to will away his arousal (thinking of Maggie only went so far), the relief of finally, finally being touched, if only through his trousers, was immense. Mark was tracing the outline of his hardening cock with one long fingered hand, far too gently for his liking, but methodically and relentlessly. It was almost embarrassing how quickly Ian was fully hard again under the familiar touch, pressing up against it to get more, and gasping against Mark’s mouth.

“I think I owe you,” Mark said quietly. His whiskers were ticklish against Ian’s ear, and the grin audible in his voice had a slightly unsettling edge to it. Or maybe that was just his imagination – he couldn’t be sure, considering that most of the blood in his brain had rushed south.

“Yeah, I think you do,” he replied, catching Mark’s mouth roughly and doing his best to wipe the smirk off it.

“Although that really was bloody unprofessional.”

“It was also bloody quick,” Ian replied, more shakily than he would have wanted, but the fact that, by now, Mark had him backed up against the kitchen door and was finally working open his belt was as good an excuse as any. He hesitated for a moment. The gin and tonic he'd had at the bar, together with the wine and Mark’s hands on him (and the memories from earlier) were making him bold. “You liked that, yeah?”

The hands on his fly stilled, and he could feel Mark’s chest expanding against his in a shuddery breath. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, so did I. I loved how much it turned you on. I loved how quickly I could make you come in my mouth, with everyone else running lines in the next room, fuck, and you ruining your bloody costume because you loved it so much...” 

He was aware that he was babbling; Mark had finally made up for lost time, pulling his hard-on free from his underwear and tossing him off in earnest. But it was the look on his face more than anything else that set Ian off. He had taken off his stage make up, but there were traces of khol still around his eyes, making them even brighter, and his expression was a mixture of amusement and excitement that made Ian want to find out just exactly how far he could push him.

“Are you trying to make this into a contest?” Mark asked, still keeping up a steady rhythm that was so very nearly perfect it was almost painful. “Because I could probably get you off in about two minutes like that. Less if I do this.”

He dropped to his knees (slowly; he would probably complain about his joints later), and without giving Ian time to brace himself swallowed him down. Fuck, but he really was good at that, and the fact that he was moaning around a mouthful of Ian’s cock didn’t help either. It was all he could do to cling onto the last shreds of politeness and not grab Mark’s hair and just fuck his face until he was choking. Yeah, considerably less, probably.

And then, just as he was about to finally, finally come down his throat and make an end to the sexual frustration of the evening, Mark stood abruptly and wiped his mouth. 

“You know, I should probably take a bath,” he said.

Ian stared. “What?”

“Oh, you know, long day, show tonight – I’m vile, I really should go and have a soak.”

“Why – no, honestly, you’re fine, you...”

Mark chuckled and licked a long hot stripe from Ian’s ear to his jaw. 

“You evil bastard,” Ian gasped as soon as he could find his voice again. 

“I give as good as I get. Bedroom at least?” 

Mark seemed rather too nonchalant about the whole thing; considering he left Ian standing with his cock hanging out and his mouth open (and his balls presumably turning a fetching shade of blue), he might at least have had the decency not to walk up the stairs with as much of a bounce in his step. 

“You got sucked off, you stupid git!” he murmured belatedly, and attempted to follow with as much dignity as he could muster.

Mark was waiting for him in the bedroom, busily stripping off his cardigan and shirt; despite their earlier escapade, he was obviously not unaffected by what was going on. He presumably had the advantage of not being quite so desperate to come though. Ian was amazed at how much he wanted to touch him. It would probably be great to just push him onto the bed, tell Mark to keep looking at him like that, and rub himself off against his chest. He’d had no idea that dragging someone into a semi-public toilet, sucking them off and then spending the rest of the evening pointedly not thinking about it would get him that worked up – but then you never know until you try, do you. 

He crossed the room, ignoring his rather indecent state of dress (although Mark certainly wasn’t, judging by how his eyes, quite unapologetically, strayed from Ian’s face). Mark caught him in his arms and kissed him, downright filthily, and he moaned into the kiss at the feeling of his naked cock grinding against the rough jeans fabric, leaving wet traces of spit and pre-come. He grabbed Mark’s arse and pulled him close to increase the friction, and oh, no, definitely not unaffected, if the erection pressing against Ian’s thigh was anything to go by.

“Take your clothes off,” Mark said, pushing him back towards the bed. He grinned. “Slowly.”

“Fuck slowly,” Ian hissed, struggling out of several items of clothing at once. 

“Oh, later maybe,” Mark quipped, and Ian had to grab him and kiss the unbearable smirk off his mouth again. 

It wasn’t exactly elegant, frantically kissing someone while simultaneously tearing off your clothes, but it got the job done, and he could finally stretch out on the bed and pull Mark on top of him. He loved the solid weight of him, the way it pushed him down into the mattress and held him there, the feeling of soft heated skin on his a sharp contrast with the rough drag of the jeans Mark was still wearing. The stiff fabric was almost painful against Ian’s rock hard prick, and it made him buck his hips up desperately and stifle a moan by biting down on Mark’s neck.

“Go on, be as loud as you want, I want to hear you this time,” Mark murmured. He traced the bow of Ian’s lips with a fingertip, and Ian opened his mouth and drew two long fingers in, running his tongue over them and sucking on them the way he had sucked Mark’s cock earlier, messily and wet and hard; only this time, there was no need for secrecy – he could moan around them as wantonly as he liked, as he watched Mark’s eyes widen and felt his fingers curl involuntarily against his tongue.

“God, I want to make you beg for it.”

The thought should probably have worried him, but fuck, if it didn’t turn him on even more. Mark’s voice was hoarse and his beard prickled against the tender skin behind Ian’s ear; it was delicious. He moaned when Mark drew his spit-slicked fingers down his chest and cupped his cock, not stroking yet, just letting him feel the weight of his hand, and the comparative coolness of it on his overheated flesh.

“I’ll make it easy for you,” Ian said breathlessly. “Please, make me come. Please.”

Mark laughed against his neck. “How do you want it?”

“I – I don’t care. Just... you can just wank me off if you want.”

Mark’s hand tightened around his cock, giving him a few light strokes, and Ian’s eyes rolled back. “Yeah. Oh, harder. Please.”

“Can I suck you?” Mark asked, all nonchalance, and he might have pulled off the act if it hadn’t been for the fact that his voice had become low and breathy, and that Ian could feel his heart hammering against his own chest. 

Ian groaned in answer, and wordlessly pushed him down, until Mark had settled comfortably between his thighs. He was running his tongue along his cock, just licking, gently, from base to tip, around it and back down again with the flat of his tongue, using far too little pressure and far too much spit, and it was fantastic, but it was nowhere near enough. He tangled one of his hands in Mark’s hair, barely resisting the urge to push him down onto his cock. 

“Hands on the bed,” Mark said sternly, and Ian complied with difficulty, grabbing a fistful of the duvet instead. “Good. Keep them there.”

“Fucking get on with it then,” he hissed, and Mark had the audacity to laugh, before taking just the tip of his cock in his mouth, and fucking suckling on it, while his hand came up to play with Ian’s balls. Everything was still too gentle, too soft; every time Ian tried to thrust up to get the stimulation he needed, Mark would pull away and start all over again. He was obviously putting on a show, moaning around the cock in his mouth, letting Ian see the wet, pink tip of his tongue as he licked him. He could barely keep his eyes open, but Mark knew how to perform to an audience, and it was worth the extra effort. He shuddered at the way Mark’s hips were rolling lazily and steadily against the bed. 

“God, you’re getting off on not letting me come, aren’t you?” Ian moaned.

Mark came up to kiss him, licking into his mouth, precise little stabs of his tongue, almost as if he was fucking him.

“Hold on a bit,” he whispered roughly, taking him in hand again and resuming the slow, light, torturous strokes. “God, I would’ve loved to do that to you earlier – fuck Captain Brazen, fuck the play, I wish I could’ve just backed you up against that wall and stroked you off so slowly you were sobbing with it. You mad bastard, I could barely remember my lines after you sucked me off like that. All I could think of was your lovely filthy mouth on me...”

“Fuck, please,” Ian sobbed, and Mark took his hand away.

Ian was ready to scream with frustration. His hands clenched in the bedclothes in an attempt not to strangle Mark (or, failing that, to pull him down on top of him, wrap his legs around him and desperately fuck up against him. He was so close it would take him no time at all to get off; a few good hard thrusts against Mark's stomach would probably do it...)

But Mark had other plans, apparently. Before Ian's lust-fogged brain had fully registered what was happening, he had flipped them over, drawing Ian on top of him, and was whispering filthily into his ear.

"I want you to fuck my mouth. Be as rough as you like." 

Ian was so far gone, he could only shiver and moan and nod. Suddenly on top, he was feeling decidedly light-headed after spending so much time lying down and almost hyperventilating, and the sound of Mark's sex-roughened voice sent a shock of lust through him. He was barely coordinated enough to give Mark enough room to get to the head of the bed and grab a pillow. With Mark's hands guiding him, he straddled his chest, enjoying the drag of his balls along the wiry hair there as he settled into place.

Mark was looking up at him through hooded eyes, licking his lips. 

"How close are you?" he asked.

"Very," Ian breathed, taking his cock in hand and tracing it along the cruel curve of Mark's mouth, just barely touching the wetness there. He gasped when Mark's tongue came out to lick at it. "Can I come in your mouth?"

"Fuck, yes," Mark hissed in answer, and Ian realised dimly that he must be very turned on indeed if he was that enthusiastic - it wasn't something he usually cared for. 

He wanted to rake his nails over Mark's flushed chest, to reach back and stroke his prick through the jeans he still hadn't taken off, to feel just how hard he was under the denim. But Mark put his hands on Ian's hips and licked a broad, hot stripe up his cock, and hissed, "Come on then, fuck me," and all Ian could do was brace himself against the wall, and thrust into Mark's mouth in a beautifully filthy slide that made him choke on a moan. 

It wasn't the most comfortable position, and the angle was off with the way Mark was half sitting up, but it felt so good to be finally in charge and able to set the pace that Ian had no doubt that he wouldn't be able to stave off his orgasm for long if he tried. He knew from experience how much Mark could take, and he knew he was pushing it a bit, but Mark's hands were still encouraging him, urging him on to fuck his mouth harder and with more urgency than he'd have dared, and it was so sinfully delicious he couldn't stop his hips from snapping forward. He was vaguely aware that he was moaning shamelessly, and that Mark was matching him, that he could feel the vibrations of it against his cock, and it was all it took to tip him over.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm coming," he managed to gasp in warning, but Mark only pulled him in further, and Ian clawed helplessly at the wall and tried his best to keep as still as he could to avoid choking him as he came down his throat. 

He could feel Mark swallow, and then continue to suckle at him, until the sensation became too much and he flinched away, his muscles not quite cooperating. It seemed to take an immensely long time to crawl back down and stretch himself out on top of Mark. His skin was still tingling with the force of his orgasm, his breath hitching ever so often. Mark's lips looked swollen and red under his moustache; there was a trickle of come in the corner of his mouth. Ian licked at it, tasting the salty bitterness, and Mark moaned and kissed him deeply, frantically. His hard cock was rubbing insistently against Ian's thigh. 

"You have no idea how fucking hot that was," he groaned. 

Ian, rather gracelessly, rolled off him. He was fighting the urge to giggle, endorphins and relaxation making him woozy. And, despite just having come quite spectacularly, Mark's desperate arousal, the fact that the maddening detached composure he had shown earlier was completely gone, was still turning him on. "Just get those bloody jeans off," he said.

Mark complied readily, fumbling with the buttons and pushing down his trousers and underwear. His cock was flushed and hard and leaking, and Ian's mouth watered at the sight of it. Mark was struggling to get the tight jeans off his legs, sitting on the edge of the bed to make it easier. On an impulse, Ian left a bite mark on the pale, freckled expanse of his back, just below his shoulder blade.

Mark froze for a moment, before all but tearing off the second trouser leg. He stood and turned around, looking at Ian with undisguised hunger in his eyes. They both gasped when he wrapped an elegant hand around his prick, and, still keeping his eyes on Ian, started to wank himself, slowly, biting his lip at the pleasure of it. Ian was torn between watching his face, and the obscene spectacle of his foreskin sliding back and forth over the wetly glistening head of his cock. 

"Mmmh, come here," he muttered, reaching out and pulling Mark back on the bed with him. Mark straddled Ian’s thighs, his knees on either side of them. The muscles in his legs were tensing deliciously against Ian’s overheated skin. Ian sat up and kissed him hotly, the rhythm of the little breathy moans against his lips and the faint, slick sound of Mark's hand on his own cock telling him that he was quickly abandoning the leisurely pace for something fast and punishing. 

Ian licked his way down his chest, catching a nipple between his teeth before sucking on it, pinching the other one between his fingers; he loved how he could drive Mark mad if he kept this up long enough, and he wasn't far from losing himself now, if the increasing volume of his moans was anything to go by. His other hand came up to cup Mark's balls, and now he could feel each tug, could feel them draw up as he licked up his long neck, could feel the warm wetness of each spurt of semen hitting his stomach as Mark groaned deeply and came between them.

It was a while before either of them got their breath back. Ian flopped back down on the bed, considering whether it would be too rude to just go to sleep and ignore everything until the morning. He was about to half-heartedly suggest getting cleaned up when Mark dipped his head and dragged his tongue through the come on Ian's belly, and it was only the fact that he'd had an orgasm in the last ten minutes that kept him from getting hard again at the sight of it. He settled for pulling Mark down with him (it was simply unfair that he should be the only one covered in come) and sighing contentedly. 

"Honestly though, please don't get me fired," Mark murmured after a while, stretched out on top of Ian and lazily petting his side.

"Don't make it so much fun to get you fired," Ian replied.

Mark laughed. "You really are completely insane, aren't you," he said, and Ian idly wondered whether he was right.


End file.
